


Last Train to Tokyo

by milkyama



Series: Once, I Loved You [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bittersweet Ending, Children of Characters, F/M, Goodbyes, M/M, One Shot, Pining, Post-Canon, Requited Unrequited Love, Separations, Songfic, Unrequited Love, Unresolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-23 20:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17690798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyama/pseuds/milkyama
Summary: 𝘖𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥,𝘎𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘚𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺.𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘺. 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘺.𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥,"𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘰."In which Oikawa watches the world outside blur as the train glides away from the station, and wonders if he should have said something.Alternate Title: Ikanaide





	Last Train to Tokyo

**Author's Note:**

> ikanaide /ee-ka-na-ee-dei/  
> (いかないで)  
> "don't go"
> 
> (based loosely on the lyrics of the Vocaloid song "Ikanaide")

"Otou-san! There's a letter for you!"

A boy runs up the stairs, his feet pounding hard against every step as he clutches a letter between his long and slender fingers. He's a mess of limbs—just newly entering into the stage of life where his legs and arms feel far too long for his body—and nearly trips over himself several times with his impulsiveness and his reckless habit of taking the stairs two at a time. His mind is consumed with the pretty girl in his class who smiled at him today and the dilemma about the sports club he wants to join. He briefly wonders what his mother is cooking downstairs as he leaves the ink-smudged envelope on his father's desk, his father barely looking up from his paperwork and simply muttering an affirmative. It must be good. His mother is the best at cooking, especially when she makes his favourite food—shio ramen. He hums a simple tune as he ambles his way down the stairs again, this time being careful not to trip.

Now, in his workroom, the man looks up. His son is his pride and joy—he has a younger daughter as well that he loves, but she seems to take more after her mother than him in terms of looks (which is a good thing, he thinks it'd be terrifying for Yuki to look anything like him) and he does think she's a bit much sometimes. His son and daughter don't get along very well, but they can talk and talk for hours if they find a topic they like. Yuki is tomboyish and is a fiery spirit, always coming home with scratches and scuffs on her—it reminds him of when he was younger. His son, on the other hand, is bright in the way that fireflies are—he isn't as extreme as his sister, but always seems to be rambling about something animatedly at the dinner table.

He finally notices the letter—black spotting the envelope, poorly sealed. He flips it over in his hands, forgetting about his bills and work for just a moment. Where had he seen this handwriting before? It's vaguely familiar, with its wide loops and cursive-like slant. The man shakes the thought out of his mind, taking a letter opener and running it along the barely stuck together edge, the paper unsticking with a _tsss_. He unfolds the yellow-edged paper and reads the first line, his eyes widening as he reads on.

**_"If you're going to hit it, hit it until it breaks. How long has it been, Iwaizumi Hajime? Miss me?"_**

 

 

* * *

 

 

When the girls that confess to Oikawa are inevitably rejected, they ask why.

"Is there a reason why you don't want to date me?"

"Is there someone else you like?"

"Am I not pretty enough for you?"

Oikawa simply responds with a pre-scripted answer.

"I'm too busy with volleyball, I wouldn't be able to treat you right." "Yes! I'm sorry, if I didn't like her I would date you." "No, you're pretty! I just don't like you the same way you like me."

He never tells them the truth—that in actuality, he just loves someone that won't love him back. He just loves his childhood best friend who doesn't return the same sentiment as him.

And so the story unfolds.

 

Oikawa sings a simple tune, his voice clear and squeaky like the ice over a lake. It's summer, the air makes him feel sleepy and comfortable, he stays outside until the sun sets or his mother calls him inside. It's his favorite time of year.

Oikawa skips along the edge of the brook, often stopping to crouch down and observe the small red fish that dart around in the shallows. He steps over a tree root to get closer, his back leg snagging on it and flinging him forward to the stream of water. He screws his eyes shut, prepared for impact with the water. He's not particularly worried; he knows how to swim and the water is only up to the middle of his shins here. He'd maybe feel a little bit of regret if he got his favorite alien short-sleeved hoodie soaked, but it wouldn't be too bad.

A hand grabs the back of his shirt, effectively stopping his fall into the water. This action knocks the breath out of him as the collar digs into his neck, and he wheezes as the hand pulls him back to a safe distance.

"Dummy, you shouldn't be walking so carelessly around the edge."

Oikawa turns around to see his saviour, ready to protest the use of "dummy" to describe him. His mother always said he was the brightest in his class, how could he be a dummy?

A lean boy with spiky black hair and tanned skin stands there, his black tank top and cargo shorts hanging loosely off his frame. His olive-green eyes focus in on Oikawa's face, scanning him up and down for injuries, Oikawa presumes.

"You don't seem to be hurt," the boy observes, swinging the large stick in his hands in circles. "Just be careful, I don't want to be taken away for...what do they call it? Murder? 'Cause that isn't a good thing."

Oikawa stares back at the boy's piercing eyes, still in a state of shock.

"What, can you not talk? Oi, I'm talking to you, you dummy!" the boy shouts, grabbing Oikawa and shaking him gently by the shoulders.

Oikawa finally comes to his senses, his cheerful voice spilling from his lips. "What's your name? I'm Oikawa Tooru!"

"Eh...? So you can talk. I'm Iwaizumi Hajime! Say, do you like bugs?" Iwaizumi asks, his eyes wide and his entire face animated with a whole new expression.

"I'll try to like them if you try to like aliens," Oikawa says with a straight face, serious about his statement.

"Deal!"

 

Years fly by, Oikawa and Iwaizumi growing up in a flurry of hazy summers and frosty winters. They get into volleyball, days and evenings spent fishing their tattered and bumpy volleyball out of the bubbly brook with sticks, often going home with sopping wet feet and water splashed clothing. Iwaizumi learns how to swear and instantly utilizes this knowledge to create names like "Shittykawa" and "Assikawa", with the occasional "dumbass".They shoot up in height, Oikawa suddenly overwhelmed with the newfound ability to tease Iwaizumi about his height, forever stuck just a few centimeters below Oikawa's height. Oikawa, who was always friendly and charming in nature, becomes popular with the girls at school, who gush and giggle over his "good looks" and "nice personality". Iwaizumi knows better; behind those "good looks" and "nice personality" is a demon in all definitions of the word. Oikawa breaks into his room through the window in the middle of the night too many times to count because he forgets to do his homework after volleyball practice and needs to copy off of his sheet. Oikawa wakes him up at four in the morning with loud and obnoxious screaming phone calls because he wants Iwaizumi to run with him. Oikawa is stupid, airheaded, flirtatious and dismissive. He's also bull-headedly stubborn, loud, obnoxious and ridiculous.

Yet Iwaizumi still can't find the will to draw the line between them. He tries with the ban on calling him "Hajime" ("Fine, I'll just call you Iwa-chan then!") and again when he locks the window and Oikawa somehow _still_ manages to get in. He just gives up at some point and lets Oikawa do whatever he wants. It's easier to give in to Oikawa's childish whims.

 

"Iwa-chan, have you been thinking about university? Don't think too hard, you're going to kill yourself!" Oikawa calls out, head popping out from around the corner. "If you die, who am I going to send tosses to? I'll be so sad if you die!"

Oikawa doesn't mention that he wouldn't be sad only because of volleyball. His heart thuds, blood roaring through his head when Iwaizumi turns to him, olive-green eyes narrowing in on him as they shift away from the previous glassy-eyed look. Has he ever told Iwaizumi that his eyes are pretty? He should, because they really are.

"Shittykawa, you brat," Iwaizumi grumbles, taking long strides and grabbing Oikawa by the hair, pulling him back and forth.

Oikawa cries out in pain, grabbing at Iwaizumi's admittedly muscular arm. If he were any other person in the world, he would've died of a nosebleed right then and there, but he's Iwaizumi's childhood best friend—he's developed an immunity to Iwaizumi and his looks over the years. Iwaizumi just shakes him harder, eventually releasing his hair and crossing his arms with a scowl.

"That hurt, Iwa-chan! I'm being serious here. Go to Tokyo with me! We can keep playing volleyball together forever! Wouldn't that be great?"

"About that. You're getting a scholarship for sure, because you're a stupidly good setter—don't let that compliment blow up your already grossly inflated ego—and Tokyo wants you for sure. I don't think I can ace the entrance exam well enough to get into the schools there. My grades are decent, but not outstandingly prodigal enough to get me into somewhere like Tokyo. I'll probably just settle for Hokkaido, Yamagata or Akita—they're close enough to home to take the train. The schools aren't that bad either," Iwaizumi confesses, scratching the back of his neck and looking away out the window. Oikawa has known Iwaizumi for long enough to know that this set of actions just means he's embarrassed. For what reason? Because he isn't good enough at volleyball to follow him to Tokyo? That's stupid and ridiculous, even for Iwaizumi, who's block-headed enough as it stands.

"What?! No way, you have to at least try for Tokyo! Come on, Iwa-chan, do it for me! Your favorite setter and best friend Oikawa!"

Oikawa chokes a little bit on the words "best friend", wishing they were so much more. If only he had the guts to confess his feelings boldly like all the infatuated and lovesick high school girls that confessed to him on a daily basis. Stupid Oikawa, who acts too confident around people he doesn't care about, and becomes too spineless around the one person he should be confident around.

Iwaizumi seems to not notice the silence Oikawa lapses into after his sentence, murmuring an affirmative and ambling down the hallway, pausing to shout at Oikawa to keep up.

 

To nobody's surprise, Oikawa does receive a scholarship to Tokyo, fully paid for by the school which desperately wants Oikawa as their setter. Iwaizumi scoffs when Oikawa starts bragging about his skills, smacking him across the back of the head while simultaneously praising him for getting his well-deserved scholarship. Oikawa pleads with Iwaizumi to take the entrance exam for Tokyo, eventually convincing him by a week of endless pestering. Oikawa wants Iwaizumi to go to Tokyo with him—he can't imagine playing without Iwaizumi there to spike his tosses. But when his mother sits him down and talks to him about the possibility that he and Iwaizumi may drift apart at this stage, Oikawa feels his heart breaking like a thin layer of ice over a freezing cold ocean. He hadn't fully comprehended what would happen if Iwaizumi did go to another school; he didn't want to be forced to consider the chances. He can't, he absolutely can't let Iwaizumi go. He has so many more memories he has to create with him, so many things to say, he has to _confess_. He needs more _time_.

Karma must be bitching about the countless bad things he did in his past life, because Iwaizumi doesn't get accepted to Tokyo. Oikawa tries to keep a straight face when Iwaizumi calls him to let his futile hope down gently, but ends up ugly crying afterwards anyways. He can't help it—maybe it was futile to hope, but he wanted so badly for Iwaizumi to stay with him forever. Now that he thinks about it, it's selfish, unrealistic and arrogant to assume someone like Iwaizumi would even bother with a mess like him.

 

That summer, the summer before Iwaizumi leaves for Hokkaido, they go to the festival like they always have. Oikawa picks out a glaucous shade of yukata with white designs of water waves, a welcome change from the typically flowery and feminine designs he jokingly wore to the summer festival for the past years. He's pleasantly surprised when Iwaizumi shows up in a inky black yukata with purple dragons the color of clotted blood. Iwaizumi normally doesn't care much for the summer festival's traditions, typically opting to wear a solid color yukata. When happily questioned by Oikawa about this difference, Iwaizumi mumbles out that he wanted to make this year special. Oikawa's heart thunks in his chest, the flow of his blood echoing in his ears. He wishes Iwaizumi wasn't so lovable sometimes; it'd make their separation that much easier if Oikawa didn't hold these special feelings that wanted to desperately overflow and embrace Iwaizumi.

Oikawa tries to enjoy himself with the pressing deadline of Iwaizumi's departure weighing heavily between his shoulder blades—he begs Iwaizumi to buy him some food, he thoughtfully compliments the kaguya dancer who completed the dance so effortlessly, he plays games and sets bets with Iwaizumi, most of which he wins. Sometimes Iwaizumi does something that takes him all the way back to when they were younger and leaves him with pooling tears in his eyes that take all his strength to keep at bay. He doesn't want this last festival to be one that Iwaizumi remembers as the one where Oikawa cried. He sniffles and tries his best to keep everything inside.

To Oikawa, Iwaizumi has never looked more attractive to him than now. Those hazel green eyes that he previously thought were simply pretty are so much more—they hold emotions that Oikawa has never seen displayed plainly on his face. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then Iwaizumi has the most beautiful soul he has ever seen. His spiky hair is contrasting to the appearance and soft to the touch, like always, but today it bounces softly, like layers upon layers of fine black silk. Oikawa thinks he'll miss the toothy smile and laugh the most—the one with one canine higher than the rest, with innocence and pure joy and with all the emotions in the world able to be displayed in one moment. If Oikawa could bottle up Iwaizumi's laugh in a bottle and get drunk on it, he wouldn't hesitate to do so and have a piece of him with him forever.

At the end of the day, when the sun sets below the edge of the shadowy mountains and darkness floods over the sky like black watercolours rushing into crystal clear water, Oikawa and Iwaizumi walk home, the way illuminated by streetlights that act like beacons in the middle of a darkening ocean. When Iwaizumi bids his goodbyes at the gate to his home, Oikawa chokes, a lump of bitter regrets finding their way into his throat as he simply waves, the words caught in the brink between reality and imagination. He watches as Iwaizumi turns his back to him, padding up the flat steps and entering his home.

Oikawa simply stands there, the lonely and isolating amber light from above casting stark and forbidding shadows across his face. His heart breaks more with every day that passes, with every time his words get stuck and he just can't spit them out for Iwaizumi to take already. His restrained tears finally make an appearance, tracking down his cheeks as he silently sobs, droplets like fool's gold dripping down and leaving a splash on the pavement.

If only, if only, if only...

 

When they get on the bus to the train station, each of them carrying a suitcase and a sports bag, the reality leering over Oikawa slowly begins to sink its claws into him. How much longer will he be able to call Iwaizumi Iwa-chan? How much longer does he have to confess, before it's too late?

The clock is ticking, ticking, ticking on the ties between him and his childhood best friend turned unrequited love. Time doesn't stop for anyone, not even Oikawa Tooru who'd give up the world for Iwaizumi to just stay with him and follow him to Tokyo. Time doesn't care; time is a fact unswayed by petty emotions.

Oikawa follows Iwaizumi to his platform. His train is leaving about half an hour before Oikawa's, so he's here to watch him leave. He daydreams of an alternate timeline where Iwaizumi doubts himself at the doors of the train and doubles back to join Oikawa again—where their strings of fate meet in their childhood and never separate. Instead, he jerks back to the present, where Iwaizumi is leaving him, leaving him behind for good. For all he knows, Iwaizumi will lose all contact with him and they'll never meet again in their lifetime.

The loudspeaker crackles to life, mumbling out a static-riddled, crackly incoherent sentence about boarding the train. Iwaizumi breathes in, grip tight on his suitcase and sports bag slung over his opposite shoulder. Oikawa, in a fit of preemptive loneliness, buries his nose into Iwaizumi's shoulder, inhaling the mellow and calming scent of Iwaizumi blended with the mildly floral laundry detergent that the Iwaizumi family uses religiously. Iwaizumi smells like home, Oikawa realizes, and he's a home Oikawa wants to be able to go to at the end of the day and recharge. He's heard of people running away from home, but never a home running away from a person, slipping right through their fingers like the water of a chilly mountain stream.

For once, Iwaizumi stays silent, twisting and threading his fingers through Oikawa's hair as the train pulls up to the station, gliding soundlessly and smoothly like skates against smooth, unblemished ice. He wishes the train was louder; maybe then he could compare it to a sort of monster, taking people away to hell.

"Oikawa-"

"It's Tooru. Call me Tooru one last time, Hajime," Oikawa chokes out, his eyes fluttering shut. "I'll miss you Hajime. P-please do try to stay in contact with me. I need someone to stop me from exhausting myself, a-and you're the only one that can do that. I-and you're leaving and there's nothing I can do about it, but don't abandon me."

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath in, nodding lightly and with a forced smile.

"Sorry, Tooru. I don't know when I'll be back. I'll try to remember you, and you have to remember me, alright? I wish I didn't have to go either. I wish I had the courage to-"

A shrill bell rings, signaling for the passengers to get on the train before the doors close, and Iwaizumi cuts off his sentence. He shoves something smooth and small into Oikawa's hand, and then he's off, feet moving with quick steps, wheels dragged behind him and iconic spiky hair receding into the crowd inside.

Oikawa didn't think an emotion could hurt him so physically. He's short of breath, he's pale as paper, his vision vignettes at the edges like some dramatic scene in a movie. And as the train begins to pull away from the station, Oikawa stands there, so numb of any sort of emotion—his emotion stuck on the train with Iwaizumi.

"Don't go," Oikawa whispers as the last of the train clears from his sight. "Don't go, Hajime."

He mechanically marches up the stairs, the wheels of his suitcase smacking against each step as he quietly proceeds to his platform. When another train arrives, the sleek silver paint reflecting the harsh lights of the terminal, he boards the last train to Tokyo, taking a seat next to the window, his bags in his lap.

Oikawa watches the world outside blur as the train glides away from the station, and wonders if he should have said something.

And here, the story ends—the last word is written and the book is closed. Perhaps in another universe...but in this timeline, the story of Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime ends here.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He finishes reading the letter, his olive-green eyes shiny with a sort of nostalgia and regret. Despite the promises he made, he never went back to Miyagi to meet his friend. Now, twenty years later, the man feels an emotion stir within him—one that he thought he had buried long, long ago. He shakes it off, standing from his office chair and stretching lazily, bathed in the glow of the setting sun. From downstairs, his wife calls him to dinner. He takes another burning glance at the letter, before opening the door and padding down the stairs to the ground floor, where his children and wife already sit at the table.

The man finishes a few bites of his ramen before parting his lips to speak.

"Did I ever tell you why we named you Tooru?"

The boy from before shakes his head, his hazel eyes and dark brown hair the image of his father's past unrequited love.

"Do you want to know, Tooru?"

Iwaizumi Tooru, with hauntingly similar looks to Oikawa Tooru, nods.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Woah, this has been a journey for me! I don't normally like to wax poetic for a whole story, so I had to try pretty hard on this. I spent about two weeks slowly writing this out and fleshing it out. Overall, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, though I am a little bit iffy on the wording of some parts (but that's just my writing skill). Thank you for reading! I hope to see you all again for another story in a little while!


End file.
